A/N – No flashbacks in this chapter… and don't jump to any conclusions about what Daryl says to his father at the end there. Thank you for the reviews! If I ever get a free moment (and a cooperative computer) I plan to send out personalized thank you's, but I haven't been able to yet.

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Chapter 10

In his haste to grab Carol as she passed out, Daryl dropped the gun and it skidded across the floor. Daryl wasn't one to panic, but suddenly he felt dread and terror as he held her in his arms, her body limp and unresponsive. He was crouched on the floor, one arm encircling her body so that she was suspended off the hard wood, one of his hands on her cheek.

The couch creaked and he glanced up as his father rose. His eyes darted to the gun lying on the floor… too far away from him to reach. Even if it had been closer, Daryl wasn't certain he would have dropped Carol to reach it. He met his father's eyes. His old man was scowling, and Daryl for the first time noticed the red tinge to his father's mouth, the mustard yellow to his eyes.

Frank averted his gaze and made a wheezing sound as he breathed. "Reckon since ya ain't gonn' shoot me, I'm-a go make a sandwich…"

Daryl watched Frank shuffle off, passing the gun still on the floor as he went around the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.

He looked down at Carol's pale face and patted her cheek. "Come on," he growled.

He felt her stir slightly in his arms and her eyes fluttered for a moment before she fixed her gaze on him.

"What… what happened?," she said softly. He saw the pink returning to her cheeks and felt the air rush out of him. He hadn't even known he was holding his breath. Carol tilted her head to the side to see the couch. "Where's Frank? Did you…"

"No," Daryl grunted, shook his head and continued, "ya shoulda let me shoot 'im." His voice was low, gruff.

Carol shook her head. "It won't help. If you do… it won't help." Her eyes looked forlorn, lost, and Daryl felt a pain in his chest just looking at her lying there, still in his arms.

She gave him a soft smile, lifting the corners of her mouth up only slightly.

Despite himself, he found himself smiling back, his eyes locked on hers.

A wheeze from the doorway tore Daryl's attention away and his father was standing there again, holding a sandwich in one hand, one bite missing, chewing as he watched. "Don't lemme in'errupt… jus' my house is all." Frank's words were soft but his tone was bitter.

"I think I'm okay now, Daryl… you can let me up," Carol said bringing his attention back to her. He pulled back, took his arms away from where they'd held her, and he felt the loss of it. He felt the loss of her warmth as he let her go. He stood first, offered her a hand and she took it, letting him assist her in standing up. She picked up the gun that had skidded to the floor, and he felt her soft gaze on him as he took it from her.

"The fuck's wrong with ya?," Daryl snarled, turning back to Frank standing in the doorway.

Frank chewed; let his eyes fall on Carol for a moment before eyeing his son critically. "Got meat in the fridge… yer welcome to it." His eyes shifted to Carol and he nodded before pivoting carefully in the doorway and moving away from them with a lumbering gait.

"Fuck," Daryl breathed angrily, feeling the tension coil in his body and he looked at Carol. She shrugged, lifted her chin towards the room that Frank had turned into, "go, I'll be right there."

He glanced back once before disappearing through the doorway, saw her standing at the mantle, her back to him, leaning in and peering at one of the frames. He wondered briefly what she was doing… if she was okay… why she had fainted… but he stepped into the kitchen anyway, leaving her alone in the living room.

Frank was sitting at an old poker table that he was clearly using for a kitchen table. It was rickety, and the chair he sat in was too small for Frank's large frame.

"The fuck ya doing, pop?," Daryl said softly, frowning.

Frank made a motioning movement with one hand, the one that wasn't holding the sandwich, and Daryl turned toward the counter. His father had laid out a loaf of bread, some kind of homemade mystery meat in a package, and a bottle of ketchup.

"All I got," Frank muttered through a mouthful.

"I'm not gonna eat yer food, pop," Daryl said as Carol stepped inside the kitchen.

"What is it?," Carol said, moving forward to the counter.

"Meat," Frank said, rolling his eyes.

Carol smiled at Daryl amusedly.

Daryl scowled. "Prob'ly squirrel… maybe pig if he still had any." He stepped over to the counter, leaned over and smelled the mystery package. He looked at Carol and shrugged. "Seems fine… go 'head if yer hungry."

"Least yer woman ain't too stuck up to accept a kindness," Frank mumbled over a mouthful and Daryl spun, shooting him a glare.

"Fuck off, old man. Ain't nothin' kind about ya… what kinda game are you playin' at here?," Daryl snapped.

"Daryl," Carol said with a warning in her tone. He huffed and looked at her, seeing those pleading eyes. He worked his jaw but didn't say anything.

Frank started to laugh. "Ya sure ya ain't 'is woman? Cause ya sure gots 'im whipped," Frank managed to choke out at Carol as he guffawed. The laugh turned to a cough and Frank hacked a few times, choking on whatever it was that was in his chest. His face turned red as he coughed, but paled right down once he stopped, sitting back and wheezing from the effort.

"He wants you to kill him," Carol said softly and Daryl looked at her. Her face was serious, her eyes worried.

Daryl turned to look at his father, tilted his head to one side and pursed his mouth. "Tha' what yer lookin' for?"

Frank narrowed his eyes, chewed on something in his mouth – the side of his cheek perhaps since the sandwich was gone – and said nothing.

Daryl shook his head slowly, ran a hand over the gun that he'd stuck in his pants. He looked down, then up at Carol before looking at Frank again.

"I should, ya know, should jus' fuckin kill ya for all ya done… to me, to Merle, to Karla," his voice broke on his sister's name, but his face stayed as emotionless as marble. "But I ain't. I ain't gonn' kill ya. That's too good for you." Daryl glanced at Carol who had fixed two sandwiches and was watching him curiously.

"You comin'?," Daryl asked her and she nodded. "Then let's go. We done here." Carol moved to the door, and Daryl followed. As he reached the doorway he was stopped by Frank's words.

"Will you tell her I'm sorry… for all of it… for what I done… will you tell 'er I'm sorry," Frank's voice was shaky and when Daryl glanced back at him, he could see the man's eyes welling up.

Daryl knew who the 'she' was… he knew what his father had done. Apologies would never be enough, could never be enough. He could have just nodded, that's what the old man needed – a bit of peace, something to cling to, an idea that redemption was possible. But Daryl couldn't do it.

He shook his head, his voice coming out cold and harsh as he spoke. "Karla's dead, pop… you can apologize to 'er, yerself. Reckon she ain't gonn' give a shit bout yer sorry-ass sorries."

Frank's face seemed to collapse in on itself and he started to blubber, tears squeezing out of his closed eyes. Frank put his head down on the table and he sobbed.

Carol was watching Daryl when he turned back to her, a question in her eyes, but she said nothing as he breezed past her. They headed for the door. He let Carol out first, let the screen door slam shut behind him and muttered, "let's get the fuck outta this place."